


Wedding Ring

by Adequately



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: City Elf Origin, Drabble, Gen, Shame
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-27
Updated: 2014-03-27
Packaged: 2018-01-17 04:29:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1373929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adequately/pseuds/Adequately
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She feels insufferably horrible whenever she looks at it, which is exactly why she keeps it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wedding Ring

**Author's Note:**

> Some musings on what I think a sassy-pants lady City Elf might feel with certain dialogue choices.

“Guilt. Maybe as a reminder. I don’t know.”

She takes another light sip of Oghren’s brew, intentionally avoiding Leliana’s tender and sympathetic gaze on the subject – _I always see you with that ring. Is there a story behind it?_ She fidgets with it – the rusted, bloody wedding ring she kept from what felt like another lifetime ago. It probably was, really. She wants to drink more, to not worry about dying halfway through the fight tomorrow and to forget some of the questionable decisions she’s made during her career as a Grey Warden that will probably turn things from bad to worse somewhere down the line, like asking someone to bed a witch to spawn a magical beacon child to keep one of three Wardens from possibly dying sooner rather than later, but alas, she cannot. She has responsibilities and cannot be hindered by too many drinks or guilt. And yet... she keeps the ring.

It’s stupid, really.

She never wanted to get married, this one. Truth be told she was more interested in Duncan’s timely arrival in the Alienage than her own wedding, her eyes searching for him and holding his gaze in a curious wonder while the ceremony started, near begging him to tell her more of his purpose there that day just to postpone the inevitable by a few minutes. Not that she wasn’t absolutely interested in what he had to say – they were a wonderful few minutes of delay, and the world felt so much bigger just listening to him.

_Can you tell me more about the Grey Wardens?_

_Why are you here? Are you recruiting?_

Thinking back now she couldn’t have made it more obvious. All her desires of leaving and experiencing a life of freedom and understanding the world withered away upon the sharp arrival of the reality of her wedding day alongside her and Soris’ betrotheds, and reignited with a burning passion upon Duncan’s. She didn’t even try to hide the discontent in her voice, even if she offended Nelaros, and she most definitely did. Of course it wouldn’t have been any different had she been betrothed to someone else. At least that’s what she tells herself to sometimes subdue the shame. It wasn’t anything personal, and yet...

He came for her. She didn’t need him to – Soris was enough to hand her a sword and get her going, cunning and underhanded skills in her repertoire to get them both, and hopefully any of the other women, out in as good a shape as any.

She’s ashamed to admit that she was mildly offended upon hearing that he’d accompanied Soris to liberate her and the others. True, more than one individual was necessary to get in, but it was _her_. She prided herself on her more frowned upon skill set, oddly enough. Not only that, but Soris was family. Shianni was family – she wasn’t sure what it was but it felt... intrusive of him to come in. Of course he would have joined the family at some point – and the notion bothered her to some extent – but it didn’t quite sit right. It seemed like a family matter.

Upon reflection, however, she had no right to be offended, this she knows now. All Nelaros ever did was try to make the best of the situation – small talk, genuine though clumsy smiles, light reassurances here and there and this seemingly insurmountable optimism and kindness manifested from nowhere in the short time they met before they were to be wed. She, on the other hand, nonchalantly spoke of her escape plans, thinly masking her resentment of the situation under wry and mildly offensive humour. Well, not _that_ mild.

When he was cut down in front of them both, Soris was the one to acknowledge his death. She, on the other hand, could’ve said any number of things.

_~~He died to save me.~~ _

_~~Well, I never wanted to get married anyways.~~ _

_~~He died. We’re alive. Let’s keep going.~~ _

_“Come. Let’s find the others and leave this place.”_

It was rather cold of her, but not the harshest thing she could have said. Soris probably didn’t notice – he probably thought she was numb from the sight, shaken by the blood all over them both, terrified that killing was so easy but she wasn’t. To be quite honest she didn’t know how she felt, just that Shianni and the others were the priority, and nothing else mattered. Maybe she had one or two thrills at the prospect of cutting off the arl’s son’s head and the actual act itself, but it happened too quickly for her to remember much, and so it still doesn’t make sense today.

However, thinking back to the moment where she had the gall to search Nelaros’ still warm corpse for anything useful to aid in their push forward like an ungrateful rat, she found the wedding ring – she can always remember this: left pocket, stashed away in a small leather pouch, wrapped in a cloth. She thought about leaving it with him – she had no use for holding onto something from someone she didn’t know and was dead – but she kept it anyways. She remembers the thought of selling it crossing her mind multiple times, just like the rest of the things she’d stolen from the arl’s and other assorted human nobles' homes while she journeyed, but any time she approached a vendor, she hesitated.

It’s guilt. Definitely guilt, and a reminder – a reminder for guilt. A harsh reminder of the one who knew her and the others not but risked his life – and lost it – anyways. For the one who was trying to make their arrangement work despite her standoff-ish attitude and crude humour. For the one who, despite the odds, laid his life down to help innocents, as she, now a Grey Warden, should be doing.

And she has – she is.

But when she bids her companions goodnight to avoid answering her well-meaning friend altogether and walks with the loyal mabari to retire for the evening, she barely catches a glimpse of her fellow junior Warden – the one who just spent a portion of his night being intimate with a woman he dislikes at her request because she cannot muster up the courage to die tomorrow. Their eyes meet for a split moment before he gives her an awkward and curt nod and shuts the door behind him quietly, as if not to offend. She continues down the hall after looming a few seconds longer, contemplating whether talking about it would make it any less awkward or uncomfortable.

She could tell herself that it’s to save all three of them, or that she would’ve bedded Morrigan herself if she were capable of impregnating her, but making excuses is not what Grey Wardens do. Instead, she fiddles with the rusty old wedding ring that’s a little too big for her finger – sitting on her thumb she wraps her other fingers around it and absently feels the old and dry blood splattered across it to remind herself that she needs to do better.

She does it again and again like she has every night before since becoming a Warden – a reminder not just of the young elf man who gave up his life to help a sneak-thief like herself, but for every person her decisions have put in danger or killed, and every soldier who never made it because she was far too preoccupied with her own safety over theirs. She thought it was reasonable – she can’t help them if she’s dead, but it matters little now, especially for them.

She keeps it as a token to tell herself to do– to _be_ better; move faster, hit harder, listen closely and do things right, even if it is infinitely more difficult.

But she hasn’t.


End file.
